


A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Bajor

by ToasterBonanza



Series: Piper at The Gates of Dawn [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors
Genre: Gen, Invented Aliens, Letters, Music as a Weapon, Parent-Child Relationship, Post-Canon, Stranded, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterBonanza/pseuds/ToasterBonanza
Summary: Story 2 in "Piper at The Gates of Dawn"Hopeful about the possibility to discover the identity of their elusive Musician 52366, our two musicians have set their plans in motion to depart from Qo'Nos and travel across the galaxy to Bajor. But even the best-laid plans can go wrong, and despite not knowing each other very well, they must rely on each other to save their lives. In the course of these events, they learn about why were both drawn to music....
Series: Piper at The Gates of Dawn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2072472
Kudos: 1





	1. Letters to Ammi

Mother,  
I have departed the Qo’noS System with Doh’Val. The transport is passing through the border of the Klingon Empire into ungoverned space. Our quarters are small, too small for more than one bed. However, I have confidence that we will find compromises to any conflicts which arise as we both intend to act in good faith and trust each other. My letters have been brief as well as few and far between—a fact I know makes you anxious and worried for me. I will endeavor to contact you more often during our journey. I never intend to cause you pain. 

I am optimistic after my reception from Doh’Val’s family and their desire to seek a friendship with you and Father. By the time you read this, Mr. Nakarmi will have contacted you with an invitation to visit him and Mrs. Tavana. I hope that you will oblige them. I am unfamiliar with their customs, but my understanding is that Doh’Val travels with the protection of a “family patron.” Apparently, this enhances the reputation of his family among their peers. His parents regard our expedition with favor. Already, I see the foundation of what we are doing. There is only so much that Starfleet or the Federation can accomplish. We will do what they cannot. Our journey to Bajor will last a few months, and I will be back home. I am satisfied with our preparations. We no longer believe that Seu Minjaral is the elusive Musician 52366, but his knowledge will prove important to our search. 

I can confess to you and you alone that the language of logic is not enough. I am eager. And I am happy. 

+++++++

Mother,  
All other means to contact you are unavailable. Our transport required emergency repairs. I am unfamiliar with the details, but we are safe on a supply station. The repairs will take quite some time, and the station cannot accommodate the passengers for any length of time. Doh’Val believes that he can secure another means of travel, although he has yet to reveal his plans. I trust him in this matter as we are still within the Klingon Empire’s sphere of influence. I will contact you again when we have secured safe passage.


	2. Music as a Weapon

“Another song for my crew!” cried out Captain Kagga amid the shouts and cheers of the other crewmembers. She dined with them for this special occasion as they had very cultured guests aboard. They were almost worthless as warriors, but fortunately all Klingon vessels provided unconditional aid to any and all citizens found traveling outside the Empire’s borders.

“Opera! More opera!”  
  
“Another one of those fine Vulcan tunes!”

“No, a Starfleet song from when they waged war!”

“One more and you will have earned your share of rations.” She stood from the table to throw a rough arm around each of them, squeezing them close. “Your choice. We have yet to hear your blue-eyed friend sing.”

Translators were always considered non-essential computer operations on a Klingon ship; they weren’t going to bother switching it on for a single guest. Doh’Val murmured to his friend, “she wants to hear you sing.”

“I think that is unwise. The breadth of my knowledge would not include what she enjoys, and my skills with my ka’athyra are much more impressive.” The one good thing was no computers to interfere when they spoke. Now, Vudic was easier to understand with his natural accent instead of whatever the computer synthesized.

No one denies the request of a captain aboard their own ship. She wouldn’t hesitate to punish them for insubordination as if they were part of the crew; it was the only way for her to maintain her authority. “The duet I taught you. The one about sailing.”

His friend closed his eyes in resignation. “I do not know it well. But I will attempt a suitable rendition.”

To Captain Kagga, he flashed a toothy smile. “We have a fine duet. He would be happy to perform.”

“Happy? Hah!” She gave each of them a forceful slap on the shoulder, returning the smile and returning to her seat. “I did not think that was a word any Vulcan knew. Then it must be superlative. At your leisure, sirs.”

Vudic began, his ringing and silvery voice filling the cabin as he projected all the way to farthest bulkhead. He always sounded exactly as one would expect a trained Vulcan singer: perfectly controlled, clear, and using one’s anatomy to achieve the purest notes. Of course, the song was in Russian so no one else on the ship had the slightest idea what they were saying—it didn’t matter. Doh’Val actually wished he didn’t know either so he could spend more of his energy simply enjoying this voice. Vudic missed his calling as an opera singer. Prospective lovers would be at his feet wherever he went had he been born on Qo’noS and begun a career there.

“ _Unsociable our sea  
_ _Day and night, it is noisy  
_ _In his fateful expanse  
_ _Many ills buried_ ….”

They finished to tankards banging on the tables and even louder cheers. Vudic gave the stiffest bow that Doh’Val had ever seen before turning away to store his instrument. “Sirs, you will sit across from me,” announced Kagga, gesturing as her officers cleared away to yield them seats.

“We are deeply grateful for your kindness, Captain.” As they sat down, two plates of rations were set before them by a steward along with two tankards.

“Stop sweetening my bloodwine.” Her smile was fierce. “You give us music, and we give you passage. It is a fair trade.”

Vudic gave his people’s salute. “I am thankful with honor.” He had insisted on learning enough to communicate simple sentiments out of respect for their host, although they knew little about Klingon military traditions and gestures.

She laughed behind her tankard the way one regards a child learning their first words. However patronizing she was, it was merely the way of imperial soldiers. Doh’Val yet to meet a soldier without an air of haughtiness. “I see your friend’s tongue can handle our language. Tell him I accept.”

He murmured in his friend’s ear. “She approves of you.”

“That is favorable for our circumstances.” He inspected the platter and tankard to determine if there was anything here that he could eat or drink. “Ignore me. Focus your efforts on the captain and maintaining a beneficial relationship.” Choking down his dinner would be a trial; he didn’t have a choice in this case.

Doh’Val gestured to the steward to bring water. He’d switch their cups at the first opportunity and save his friend some pain. “Is it too much to ask what your mission is, being so far from the Empire?”

“It is, but I am flattered that you would show any interest.” She eyed his friend with a smirk, clearly amused by his attempts at life-threatening politeness regarding his meal. “What I want to know, more than anything, is what _you_ and this friend of yours are doing so far from home.”

“Well, that is quite a st—”

A lurch so violent that plates jumped off the tables and bloodwine spilled on every lap. The steward had collapsed with a tray of bowls and was brushing himself off while the officers cleaned up themselves. Vudic had disappeared to double-check that their instruments were still intact.

One moment Captain Kagga sat before him and in the next, she was disappearing through the doorway barking a string of commands and insults with an authority that reassured him of their safety. Whatever the issue, she would protect everyone aboard.

“Take you and your guest to the bunks.” Her second grabbed them each by the arm and shoved them out the door.

They wound through the dark corridors of the vessel, dodging the other crewmembers who sprinted to their posts. “Must be another ship malfunction.” Doh’Val could think of no other reason for the interruption; this time, they wouldn’t need to go looking for another means of passage as Klingon ships were always at the ready to make repairs.

Every bunk in the berth they were assigned to was empty. The only thing they could do was wait. Vudic stowed their instrument and stretched out on their designated bunk. “I will meditate until it is safe for us to leave. Please alert me with any further information.”

Doh’Val sat on the nearby bench; the crew make it quite clear that so long as neither of them touched the other bunks, all would be well.

A grating, metallic voice came over the comms. “This is The Tantalan Corps. Your ship has been caught in our trap. Do not attempt to fire on us or use your shields. Transport your cargo to our hold and we will free you.”

Captain Kagga responded. “The Klingon Empire does not bow to privateers, thieves, criminals, or cowards. I will die protecting my crew before you lay a hand on them or our ship.”

“Then you will die and so will your crew. You have fifteen minutes to comply.”

The comms went dead. Vudic was on his feet, his face like stone and looking to Doh’Val for confirmation of his suspicions. “We are being captured.”

“Something called the Tantalan Corps.” They needed a plan for survival. If they were lucky, everyone else would be killed and their captors would leave the ship intact.

He knew it was more than just capture.“I have vital information regarding the Tantalans. We must find the Captain.”

No sooner had he stepped out of the berth did a deckhand grab him. “Get back to your bunk!” The deckhand grabbed Vudic by the scruff of his collar the way Klingons discipline their children for bad behavior. He had taken only a couple steps outside the quarters when the deckhand snatched him.

Vudic kept a cool expression but his voice was acrid and his Klingon mangled. “Kagga. I need Kagga.”

Doh’Val rushed to intervene. “He says he can help us defeat our enemy.”

The deckhand sneered. “We will decorate the captain’s quarters with their bones.”

“All the more reason to use what he can tell us to guarantee victory and glory for our dear captain and our ship.” Appeals like these were second-nature by now, and they almost always worked.

“Hm.” He let go of Vudic. “See the Tactical Engineer. I will take you both.”

Thirteen minutes, maybe less. The deckhand led them into an area where a gristly-looking officer snarled, “Disruptors on, _worms_!” She was older than Kagga with a few missing teeth. Seeing them, she pointed for the door. “No need for you here, bards. Back to your bunk.”

“The Vulcan says he can bring us victory,” announced the deckhand.

Doh’Val expected resistance. Instead, she called, “Translators on!” A few beeps. “Start talking and make it quick.”

“Tantalans use sound the way we use light and it is how they see.” Vudic wasted no time convincing the officer. “Their sound-sight is superlative. Furthermore, they are a strongly telepathic people who can communicate with other Tantalans in a different room. Just as we can be blinded with light, they can be blinded with sound. I know a technique that will disrupt their abilities. I advise that we connect my instrument to our com system, bring the volume to a decibel above the threshold of your people’s ear pain, and provide everyone onboard with ear protection. I will need protection as well.”

“I will advise the Captain. Translators off!”

While she was relaying this new plan, Doh’Val frantically whispered, “How do you know all of this?”

“Tantalans were one of the first people Dr. Dael and I came across in our research. The information is trustable. We never found a subject that would sit for interviews.” His voice lowered. “They do not tolerate other species well.”

“Go to Engineering,” ordered the officer, “Collect what you need from your quarters on the way. Do as they say.” She then instructed another deckhand to lead; they were each taken by the shoulder and marched away.

The chief engineer’s long fingers handled the wires as expertly as Vudic handled his ka’athyra; subordinates were running diagnostics to adjust the levels and ensure that the changes wouldn’t disable them. The Captain had taken very well to their suggestion. Something was wrong. They shouldn’t be so willing to use Vudic’s plan. Their arrogance shouldn’t allow this.

Vudic offered up his ka’athyra at the chief engineer’s silent request, a slight tension in his hands when he took the delicate instrument. A few bits clipped to places where Vudic pointed. The subordinates were too quiet. Everyone was too quiet. This didn’t feel right at all.

The chief strummed hard. Crackling, distorted sound exploded from every com on the ship. It was so dissonant and harsh. Perhaps this is what they needed.

“Bard, can you fight?” The chief didn’t wait for an answer as he placed a disruptor in Doh’Val’s hand. “No time to add your song. You will defend Engineering with us.” He paused and asked, “What is your house?”  
  
“House of Nakarmi.”

His brow furrowed but there was no time to ask. “The House of Nakarmi will be honored by your glorious death.”

“Once I have my protection, we cannot hear each other.” Vudic touched his shoulder. “This is an adequate plan. We will survive.”

His confidence was reassuring. “And this will work without fail?”

Vudic lowered his voice. “No. At most, we have an 80% chance of survival.”

It took every fiber of his being to not throw him into the bulkhead. He whispered back, seething, “80% _at most_!”

Vudic had the nerve to shush him. “The important aspects are the decibels and creating a complex, off-putting rhythm. This is no time for explaining nuance.” How dare he!

An announcement came over the com instructing all crewmembers to take their positions and apply their ear protection. Vudic—how dare he—that man—Doh’Val couldn’t decide where to start with what made him so angry.

Blood in his ears. Breathing. Vudic—that man—how could someone with so few emotions to show find just the precise way to—

Music notes boiled out of the walls. The ka’athyra was shrieking. Life and death hanging in the balance, and he couldn’t stop himself from considering the aesthetic and the possibility of using distortion in their music. He could feel the low notes in his ridges.

Vudic played with ferocity, fingers sliding up and down the strings. The engineering crew clustered in formation to create a wall around him, a dagger in one hand and a pistol in the other. All were aimed at the single doorway, purposely kept open should a crewmember in the corridor require aid.

They waited.

And waited.

The shimmer of a transport. Someone was materializing in the corridor just outside the doorway.

Horrible. An angular head with only vague indentations of features like eyes. No mouth, just a strange protrusion of jagged mouth parts. Serrated limbs, extra appendages. A cross between a person and the mantids he remembered from Earth. Horrible. He saw the Klingon baldric across its body. Now, he understood.

The chief engineer signaled for them to wait as the last piece of the creature materialized. They’d see if Vudic had lied.

The Tantalan immediately clutched its head and crumpled, listing to the side like a dying fish.

Proof enough. A volley of shots turned the invader into a steaming blue smear on the deck.

Doh’Val felt the bloodlust take over. Yes, yes, he had always craved victory like any true son of Qo’Nos. The stink of their tattered enemy was sweet perfume for his savage soul.

“Qapla’!” he shouted for himself, but he saw the word on everyone’s lips.

With a band led by the chief’s second, he burst into the corridor to find the same scene playing out. Blue smears up and down the walls, on the ceiling and the floor. Baldrics taken from other crews lay tattered among the carnage. The Tantalans were so unprepared, some even dropped their weapons.

A Tantalan was next to him. He pulled his civilian’s knife to slash its throat.

Was that a burn in his shoulder?

Its head melted as he shot it through, ooze pouring out of the wound as the body slumped forward onto him. The spray covered his face and beard.

More wet. He was bleeding. Excellent. It made him feel invincible. He cut the baldric from its body. It deserved better than this.

He looked back in Engineering to find the cluster around his friend had started dragging dead enemies out of the corridor to pile them in an alcove. Not one dead Klingon yet, only someone taking in shelter in Engineering to tend their injured leg.

Before he knew it, the only ones in the corridor were him and a bunch of soldiers still hungry for blood. Was it over already? How long had it been?

Someone grabbed him, yanking him back into Engineering. Another all but threw him on the floor while two deckhands cut away his clothes. Now the pain set in as he saw the open, weeping wound around his collarbone. Some of his skin had already turned black and dead.

He refused to even wince as they smeared over a foul-smelling ointment. Magical machines were in sickbay. The ointment didn’t take away the pain, of course. Pain should stoke the fires of your spirit before battle.

Music surrounding them like thick smoke. Vudic’s eyes seemed glassy as if in a trance. Doh’Val needed to stay down and out of the way until someone said otherwise. Now he got to see the true quality of imperial soldiers. They couldn’t speak a word to each other, but they communicated with ease to keep the ship running. For once, he was truly impressed with the Klingon military.

The hunger for war now grew tepid in him. He hurt. He wanted to rest. Where did that sash go? Time suddenly moved so slowly….

He struggled to his feet when Captain Kagga strode through the door. The cluster around Vudic parted for her. She placed a hand on the ka’athyra to silence.

Vudic stopped, still in his trance.

They pulled the instrument, now flecked with green, from his hands; the captain held it carefully while the chief engineer took the amplifying bits away.

She gently tapped his cheek with one hand and the other on his shoulder.

Vudic came to but seemed dazed, furrowing his brows at his fingers and then at the captain.

Captain Kagga signaled for everyone to remove their ear protection. She gestured for Doh’Val to come over and translate for his friends. The chief engineer handed her some wires with a microphone while everyone else in the room removed their ear protection.

“The Tantalan Corps has been defeated without a single casualty on our side. Today, we share our victory with the Vulcan in our company whose scheme saved us. Find this man and thank him that you will live to die a greater and more glorious death.”

Setting down the comm, Captain Kagga waited for silence in the room. Doh’Val quietly gasped as she gave both of them the Vulcan salute, that familiar hand split.

The chief followed suit. Then his second, and then another. Then another and another.

A room full of Klingon warriors—the most virulent patriots, hostile to any outsiders—saluting a civilian Vulcan for his valor in battle.

Vudic, despite his stoic nature, could not fully mask his astonishment. He met eyes with every single one in the room to personally acknowledge this incredible gesture of respect.

He gestured back and cleared his throat. “Qapla’.”

The room of warriors cheered with one voice. “Qapla’!” They broke into cheering as they crowded around to pay their respects, some even talking to him despite him not understanding a word.

Doh’Val’s gaze met the captain’s. She wanted him. She wanted him to want her. She wanted him to want her, and for him to want her to want him. “We will complete our mission because of your efforts.”

Before he had any chance to make his first overture, a deckhand spoke up. “Sir, your friend. I think he is ill.”

A trio brought Vudic to him, holding the man like a wounded hero. The glassiness hadn’t left his eyes, and his hands were outstretched like the ancient statues of Buddha he remembered from his grandparents’ home on Earth. Green. There was blood on his hands. He was shaking. Why was he shaking?

Leaning close, he murmured in his friend’s ear, keeping a level voice despite the small convulsions throughout his body, “Tell them I must rest and meditate.”

“Our hero needs his rest!” he announced to the room.

“Take the warrior to his quarters!” Deckhands kept their hands on him, hoisting him up to create a chair with their arms.

Enemy bodies and their gore still littered the corridors. More crewmembers joined to follow them, creating a procession behind Doh’Val and the deckhands carrying his friend. They shouted and they sang, each eager to pay their respects to the hero of the hour.

By the time they reached the berth containing their bunk, what looked like half of the crew were following them. Doh’Val stopped in the doorway. The deckhands were laying out Vudic on their bunk. “Comrades! Patriots! We are victorious today!”

A thundering chorus.

“Comrades! Our man is wounded. He is not accustomed to war such as we are. He must rest. But when he is well, you may honor him then. Your gratitude honors us both.”

Another chorus of shouts before they started dispersing. His burn still hurt so much.

Going over to their bunk, the shaking had only grown worse. “He keeps asking for you.” The deckhands expressed genuine concern. “Will he live?”

“Yes.” He had to believe himself. He had to believe that Vudic would recover. “I will care for him.”

They nodded solemnly. “Tell him that although his homeworld is in the Federation, today he is a Klingon.”

At last, they left. Vudic sat up, hugging his limbs close to his body. “My pack. There is a thermal cover and a medical kit.” His voice was level despite speaking through chattering teeth.

The “thermal cover” was a woollen blanket, heavy and rough. He set the medical kit on the bunk upon realizing that everything inside it was labeled in Vulcan script.

“The polymer gel.” The blood still wet on his hands made everything that much harder to pick up. The white tube he dropped back into the kit was smeared with green.

“Please. Allow me.” Doh’Val picked up some blotting cloth. “Spread out your hands.” He held his thin fingers. All that blood from just some shallow cuts on his fingers. The bleeding was already slowing. “Which one is the hypo-spray?”

“I do not require it.” More shaking. “The convulsions are nothing more than a physiological response to physical stress and a confrontation with danger. My body is behaving in an illogical manner. I, however, am fine. Moreover, I am unaccustomed to such low temperatures.”

Now he understood. He snorted with a smile. “You were scared. You have never seen battle.” Pulling the cap off the tube, he applied some gel to the first cut.

“Fear was a distraction in the moment. I remained composed.” He pulled away one hand to grab the blanket, pulling it around his shoulders. “I require this cover. The low temperatures do not improve my condition.”

He smirked. Vudic had been scared. Remarkably, he did not show it once during the battle. Doh’Val found even more respect for him than before. “One’s first battle is never a pleasant experience. You adapt quickly.”

“The unpleasantness in the moment is unimportant as the moment has passed.” A shiver went through him, ending in his hands. “The danger has passed.” He shrugged, attempting to move the blanket further while keeping his hands resting on the kit. “The temperature in here is lower than I remember.”

Quintessentially Vulcan. “My education included a great deal of combat as a young child. We sparred with each other, but the true fighting came through simulators. We fought holograms which were given real weapons. My first encounter did not end well.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I cried so quickly. The other students mocked me for the rest of the training session.”

“Because you were half-human.”

He stopped applying the polymer gel, looking away to reach those memories. “Yes and no,” he said slowly. He reached further. “They mocked me because my parents are not warriors. They thought I was too soft for combat.” Now that he considered the notion, he had lived with very little hindrances due to his mixed family. “I did have to prove myself that I was a proper son of the Empire, and they accepted me. Only the very old who remember the war with the Federation would ridicule my bloodline.”

“How unexpected.” The silence felt uncomfortable, this time because Vudic’s tone said he had far more to say that he would allow himself.

Doh’Val finished with the polymer gel, giving both hands a light blow to help the gel set. His friend focused far too much on his mixed heritage, always assuming that Doh’Val’s hardships were somehow linked to this fact. And then something fell into place. “Vulcans are not so tolerant of mixed marriages, I take it.”

Vudic’s gaze fell on the empty bunk across from them.

His heart sank, realizing that he had said something very painful. “I did not mean to--”

“Yes.” Perhaps it was because the shivers hadn’t subsided. The single word escaped his lips, small and vulnerable. He wrapped his blanket tighter around him.

“Why?” But Doh’Val already knew.

Vudic had a habit of making too much eye contact when he spoke. Or possibly just a habit of all Vulcans. It was the first time Vudic showed naked emotion. Anguish. “We value logic above all,” he began with an inadvertent sigh. “The path to its attainment is _Kolinahr_. To complete this and purge one’s self of all emotion is to be as Surak, our greatest philosopher. To not complete this path or take an unconventional route—” A flicker of rage sparked and fizzled, “may not reflect well on one.”

The thought of his friend purging himself of all emotion pained him. Even in his measured and reserved nature, Vudic was sly and cheerful. When he made music, a spark lit up his ocean-blue eyes.

“The art of Vulcan, I am certain, saved my life. It is why I became an artist.”

“What is so special about how Vulcans regard artists?”

“We are unlike philosophers and practitioners of _Kolinahr_ because while they interpret the teachings of Surak, we interpret Vulcan society and the philosophers themselves. We see what is real, and we complement the philosophers. They speak to the mind. We speak to the soul. For our efforts, we are afforded—what is the Standard word? Liberation? Lessness?”

“If an artist expresses emotion, it is not inappropriate,” offered Doh’Val.

“So long as there is logic behind such an expression, artists do not experience the same social sanctions. We must be allowed to express our creativity in interpreting the deep knowledge of Vulcan culture we have acquired through many years of study and practice. It is more important to encourage innovation in our artists than adherence to formality. Artists rarely achieve _Kolinahr_. Some have even described it as harmful to our people.”

“And they are not imprisoned or shunned?”

Vudic shook his head. “It is illogical to silence them. The expression of dissent provides the opportunity for _Kolinahr_ practitioners to refute the argument. When grounded in logic, no opinion should be excluded from any discussion.”

“What do you think? Do you believe it is harmful?”

Vudic looked away, allowing Doh’Val a moment to recover. Those blue eyes seemed to burn whatever they looked upon. “Many years ago, I told my father that I wold never pursue _Kolinahr._ He did not speak to me directly for a full year.” Doh’Val could only imagine the howling silence. “I do not regret my decision. However, I do regret that I told him.”

Doh’Val felt fatigue settling into his body. His burn still ached, causing him to lean against the bulkhead to steady himself.

“You are weary.” Vudic made more room in the bunk. “Lie down.”

He didn’t have enough energy to make a show of protesting and insisting he was fine. Stretching out, he felt the blanket fall over him. Vudic’s shivering finally started to subside. They were as close as they had been in his quarters at the conference which started them on this journey.

“What were they saying to me? The crew. What were their precise words before they left?” They were on their backs, no room to do anything but stare at the bunk above them.

“That you are now one of them. They regard you as their equal.” The bulkheads hummed quietly around them.

“I sensed this but required confirmation.” He sounded pleased. “And the captain after her speech?”

“The same, I am certain. She may even contact our families.” At the very least, she will send word to her commander. He wondered what kind of reward that civilians could get for valor in battle.

“That may prove troublesome.”

“Why?”

“My mother. She can be—” he paused for too long, “—emotional.”

He caught the deeper meaning. “My mother, on the other hand, will be pleased. She will ask for every detail from both of us.” He smirked at the thought. “War itself never held her interest, but she enjoys war stories.”

Finally, Vudic had stopped shivering altogether. “Doh’Val.” His voice was a whisper.

“Yes?” He couldn’t help whispering back.

“Do you recall our meeting? We agreed that we found each other familiar yet had never crossed paths before that moment.”

“Yes.”

“I believe that I understand now what we found so familiar. We recognized our common culture and our experiences as hybrids.”

It explained the ease they shared, how quickly their friendship had come to life, and how readily they endangered themselves for each other. And how Doh’Val now found new feelings swirling inside him. “You make an astute observation.”

“Yes, I know.” The snide imp.

No one would come for them for quite some time. They were civilians with minor injuries. Just the sounds of the ship for now. “What do you think of the captain?”

He made a thoughtful noise and fidgeted to reposition himself. “I consider Captain Kagga competent, shrewd, and unconventional based on what you have told me about your culture.”

“I think she desires me.”

“Desires you to do what? You lack military training.”

Doh’Val had never broached this topic with his friend before. He never knew what Vulcans could tolerate when discussing such matters. “She desires me sexually.” Bluntness would give him a quick answer.

A very long silence. “I understand now.”

He could see a possibility with the captain. She wanted him. He wanted her. She was hard with sharp angles and edges; he was soft with curves and lumps. She had broad shoulders and a strong nose and a sharp smile. He was no warrior or great leader or even a handsome dandy of considerable fortune. And yet she wanted him.

Vudic said something and broke his musings.

“What?”

“Do you desire her?”

He couldn’t lie. Not to his companion. “Yes.” What would he say?

“Then the best course of action is to pursue her.” He was dispassionate. “Whatever can be done to maintain this beneficial arrangement is worth pursuing.”

Doh’Val’s heart fell. He wanted Kagga because he felt genuine affection for her, not to use her for their convenience. Is that what his friend thought of intimacy? Just another means to an end instead of something potentially beautiful? “Are you certain?”

“Yes. You are two adults who have shown great respect for each other. You appear to have compatible characteristics. If the relationship will make you happy, then by all means you should pursue what will bring you happiness.”

There were a lot of things that could make him happy, not just pursuing Kagga…. “I did not think that my happiness would matter to you.”

“Your happiness makes you a better composer. When you are happy, you perform to the best of your ability.”

A very Vulcan way of thinking. “So I should pursue her.”

“You should do what will bring you happiness. Will it make you happy?”

Maybe. But then again maybe not. “Yes.”

“Then do what you shall.”

Then he shall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, ths feels a bit cheesy. But I also couldn't think of anything more Star Trek


	3. A Father's Reassurance

He Who Is My Son,

You have exercised prudence. I have reviewed your account of the incident aboard the Klingon bird-of-prey. We have not yet been contacted regarding the incident which will afford me the necessary time to relate the events to your mother in a manner that will not distress her. I am confident that both yours and the captain’s will corroborate each other. 

What I read from your account, you acted admirably given the dire circumstances. You did not turn from the opportunity to rescue lives nor did you falter in carrying out the plan you recommended. The deaths could not be avoided, and by your own words the crew outnumbered the members of the Tantalan Corps. The lives saved thus outnumbered the lives lost. I discern no fault on your part. 

You grieve for the events which have passed, and you express fear as if the events are ongoing. You are your mother’s son. The ailment you describe is a human reaction and while it is an illogical reaction, it is part of you. When you were very young, you acted in ways I did not understand. I realized that although you were a child, you were someone new in my life with unique needs and characteristics. Making decisions on your behalf required me to first understand you. In understanding you, I learned what sets you apart from other Vulcans and from my older children. These traits which you share with your mother are not weaknesses. They have never lessen my respect for you, nor will they ever. Your grief and fear are expressions of these traits, and I have learned that expressing these traits in a controlled way is crucial to your continued development as an artist and a Vulcan. 

You may not recall this moment from your childhood as you were very small at the time. I will relate it to you. The parents of your peers offered advice at every opportunity on your upbringing. They advised me to halt all visits to your mother’s family, believing her influence interfered with your education. At the time, we still live on Earth, but you were educated alongside the children of other Vulcans living in Quetta where you were born. Confident that I had received enough information, I proposed these changes to your mother. You know her well, and I believe that you will recall the volume and pitch of her voice when she spoke to me. Listening to her, in the moment I believed her behavior only confirmed what these parents had cautioned against. However, I also recognized that she was in no state to reach a resolution on the matter. 

I went to your room to speak with you on the matter, expecting that you did not gain much from visiting your human family. Their customs were strange to you, and you did not socialize readily with the other children in the family. Instead, I saw that you had been crying. You were drawing on your chalk table, and I saw where your tears had washed away the pigments. You apologized to me because you were only half-Vulcan. You believed that if you performed perfectly in your education, you would become a full Vulcan. 

Hearing you say this, I realized how much I had hurt you. I admit now, though not at the time, your mother and I had been arguing, and you believed that you were the source of our discontent. If you do not recall what I told you, I shall remind you. I said to you: “Do not apologize for what makes you unique.” In considering the advice of the other parents, I did not account for the source of their advice. The parents did not know your circumstances or your character. Thus, it had been illogical of me to take advice on your upbringing from people who knew nothing about you. From that moment, I sought out every publication possible to learn what I lacked and what Vulcan parents could never tell me. You may remember from that moment, I appeared less severe. I encouraged more time with your mother’s family, and I believe you benefited greatly from knowing them. Although I was only treating you as my father had treated me before, I was faced with two facts: One, that I was not my father, and two, that you were not me. 

You are an adult now who has excelled at every endeavor he has taken. For that reason, I remind you what I learned from raising you: Expression of your human nature will allow you better express your Vulcan nature. Do not punish yourself for who you are. Do not punish yourself for what makes you an artist. 

In your account, you speak with great respect and compassion for your companion. You have also mentioned his own unusual heritage. I encourage more conversations with him on his own experiences as his temperament is also unlike my expectations of Klingons. I regret that I could not provide you with more peers who were hybrid like you when you were a child. It is logical, then, for you to pursue strong relationships in your adulthood with other hybrids.

I will contact you when the Klingon government contacts us regarding the incident. Your mother has asked me tell you that she hopes you are well. She would like you to know that she loves you and that she misses you. 

You will forgive my weakness: I too grieve your absence. Return home soon. 

Your Father


	4. Bribes Preferred

“SoS? SoS!” The hazy screen kept flickering. Doh’Val had the filthy talking-listening piece up to his face. He saw only darkness. They were almost out of credits, and he used what he could to reach his parents.

Some dim lights came on, revealing his parents’ bedchamber. They growled and grabbed their robes as they sat up in bed. His mother saw the screen and jumped to her feet, hastily tying up her sash. “Doh’Val!” she snapped, running to the console. “Where are you! And what are you wearing? What happened to the clothes you brought?” 

He tugged at his drab, tan robes. “SoS, I will explain, please—” 

“Doh’Val!” His father crowded in next to his mother. “It is the middle of the night! Are you all right?” 

His mother snarled. “Doh’Val, you did not answer me. Where are you!” 

He sighed into the talking-part. “We are not far from Bajor—”

“Where. Are. You. Doh’Val, you will tell me and you will tell me now.” 

If she thought she was angry now…. “Well, the planet itself is just beyond the borders of the Ferengi Alliance—”

Both gasped in horror. “How far are you from Bajor?” 

“We are uncertain. SoS, vav.” He took a deep breath. “We need to money to make a bribe.” 

“What!” 

He took the handheld away from his face a little while both of his parents screamed at him. Even his father, speaking Klingon up to that moment, was so infuriated he had switched to Nepali. He gave them a few moments to calm down before answering. 

“Why could you possibly need a bribe?” 

“We can use it to buy passage to Bajor.” The monitor started flickering. No, just a little longer. He just needed a little more time. “A small amount, I promise--”

“What happened to what we gave you?”

“That money was for Bajor, but we had—listen, we need just enough for a bribe. I would not contact you if—”

His father’s hand on his mother’s shoulder was a telltale sign that his mother was about to break something in the room. She was seething. “Doh’Val. Babu,” said his father, trying to keep her calm. “There is still time. You can apologize to the patron for your absence and no harm will be done, but you must come home. Immediately.” 

“Yes, but we do not have the money which is why we need the bribe. I took enough—please, listen to me. What we need is modest sum. I would not ask if—”

The image jumped as his mother slammed her fist on the nearby wall. “What about all of the other times, Doh’Val? You go days, and days, and days without contact! That captain of yours is asking after you and, oh, we will discuss her when you come home! I am running out of new works to provide to the patron from the collection you gave me to use, Doh’Val. I am already in the middle of a project of my own, and the patron is becoming—” She screamed in anger, unable to finish the sentence. “We had an arrangement!” 

“I can contact him and explain myself—”

“Not before you send us every word of what you will say!” 

They couldn’t be serious. “I have earned the right to speak with him on my own.”

His father stepped in, trying to sound reasonable. “The gratitude of our patron is wearing thin, Doh’Val. Find your mystery musician today or come home. Introduce your friend the Vulcan to the patron. He will be amused. Entertain the patron and you can try again.” 

“I will do nothing by half-measures!”

His mother cut in. “Then find him!”

“Loan me the money!”

The line flickered again. No, no, no. 

“Doh’Val, we have nothing to give!”

The screen flickered again, suddenly going dark. 

“NO!” He banged on the monitor. “I had more time!” He was still shouting in Klingon. He didn’t care. “I had more time!” 

A hand gently on his arm. Vudic. His anger became despondence. They were going to die on this forsaken planet. 

“I may have a contact who can oblige us,” said Vudic in their common tongue. He had been keeping watch for any authorities looking to arrest them or any criminals looking to rob them. “Let us trade places. The call will be brief.” 

The monitor flickered back on. A dial tone and a sudden change in Vudic’s voice. He was speaking his mother’s language. On the other side was a young man, darker than either of them. An easy smile in his voice. He seemed charming. 

And so did Vudic, in his Vulcan way. It was the most relaxed he had ever sounded. He never sounded that way even around Doh’Val….

The call stopped. “We will be on the freighter early tomorrow.”

“Who was he?” He collected their instruments. 

“A cousin, after my generation.” Doh’Val now remembered that his friend was older than his appearance indicated due to how his species aged. “A very resourceful young man. He has helped me procure rare recordings. This is not the first time I have asked him for help, and he is always willing to oblige. He confirmed that he has a contact who will make the bribe on our behalf. We are only required to arrive three standard hours before the freighter leaves.” 

This new information gave him pause. “So. Your cousin is a criminal.”

“Not at all. However, he is extremely familiar with the intricacies of the laws among various planets. What is illegal on one is legal on another. He uses the inconsistencies to his advantage. The subject fascinates him.” He pulled the shroud of his robes over his face. 

Doh’Val did the same, taking the extra step to cover his ridges. The less that people saw of them, the harder they were to identify. “Is he your favorite of all your cousins?”

“I have a regard for him.” It was the closest he would come to saying ‘yes.’ The thought gave Doh’Val discomfort, but he couldn’t figure out why. 

Midday, according to the pale yellow sky. The authorities were out patrolling for beggars like them, the ones who played music for money. He couldn’t believe that they had been reduced to this. But there wasn’t time to self-pity. They needed to eat, rest, and wait. But at least they could get off this planet tomorrow. 

They kept to the shadows as they slunk around corners and down the winding alleyways, avoiding crowds and therefore opportunistic thieves. Vudic had made it clear that he cared not if they were strip naked in the street so long as they protected their instruments and their work. 

They reached their inn with its tiny, bare room. Taking the cheapest room meant a room with mats for bedding and no furnishings, and yet somehow it still felt cramped with the two of them. Pulling off his shroud, Vudic removed one of the wall panels to pull out some of their ill-gotten Starfleet rations. It was the only thing he knew wouldn’t kill him on this planet, and this was no time for experimenting. 

“Doh’Val.I hope that you will indulge me.” He took a carafe of water with two cups for both of them. “This patron that you have told me about. You have never named him or elaborated on his relationship with your family. Why is this?”

“Custom.” He kept wondering how he would explain this to someone from the Federation. “His name is Morath of the House Bar.” Doh’Val stopped with a deep sigh. “It is very complicated.”

His voice was calm and inviting. “I am confident in my ability to understand complicated situations.” He put the carafe on a warmer, a luxury they had acquired while on the planet. It let them make tea with their meal. “Please, indulge my question.” 

The more he learned now, the better. He needed to know why their success was important to him. “My mother comes from the House Auloh. What you must understand is that on Qo’Nos, there is no equality.” 

“I have observed as much. And I understand that anyone who joins the military can expect to gain far more resources than non-military people.” 

“Yes. The House Bar has served the Empire for many generations. Whenever the soldier retires, they become patrons to arts and science. Many houses practice this, and the hope is to be born into a family that receives generous patronage.”

“The House Auloh has received the generosity of the House Bar for many generations.” 

He dumped their rations into their bowls before reaching into their food cubby for the spicy sauce he took on their journey. It had miraculously lasted this long and kept him sane. “Yes. Morath’s father, Mohm, supported my mother’s first research.” He smiled sadly. “She studies farming, the least martial science there is. Morath’s patronage is….” He swallowed hard, forcing down his emotions. “It is everything.” 

Bubbles began forming in carafe. Vudic added the tea and turned off the warmer. “Then I am to understand that Morath made your attendance at the Talas conference possible. I assume you impressed upon him the singular importance of the conference.” 

“That I could introduce the rest of the galaxy to Klingon art. My attendance to a conference well outside our borders would greatly bolster the Empire’s standing. His efforts to gain more respect for the Empire would certainly reflect well on him. The Empire would take notice and reward his family.” 

Vudic’s brow furrowed. “You know that you cannot predict such a thing. That is a very difficult promise to keep.” 

“Other families noticed. A patron who could send one of his artists so deep into the Federation can gain much attention. The Empire has not noticed yet, but his peers have. That is satisfaction enough for him. For now.” 

“What did you promise him to allow this journey?”

He sighed, staring down at the rations. “Music. Music so rare, he would be the first in all the Empire to hear anything like it. He alone would have it. Anyone who wanted to hear it could only do so through him.” 

Vudic’s face grew stony. “Any music belongs to the artist alone.” His voice was cold. “It is the only way that an artist communicate that they were ever alive. It is an extension of their self and their existence. Why did you promise this.”

“What else could I have offered?” His voice cracked. “Tell me. What do I offer instead?”

“Nothing that you have no right to offer.”

“It was the only way he would agree! We promised each other we would take this journey, did we not?”

Vudic stared him down wordlessly.

“Did we not?”

His blue eyes were cruel. 

He felt his throat gagging. “Vudic, answer me. Please.”

Silence. Their worst one yet. He felt weak and alone. If Vudic decided not to help him, then fine. He’d rather die on this planet than go back home and cost his family everything. Morath would be kind to his parents’ loss. So long as his death looked like an accident….

Finally, it broke. Vudic now spoke with kindness, but he had turned away. “Clearly, these are not ideal circumstances to discuss the matter. Our time on this planet has been difficult.” He poured the tea for both of them. 

He didn’t feel hungry, but he also knew that they needed to eat. “As many things as I dislike about my home, I miss it. I miss the land. I think I even miss Morath.” 

“You want what is familiar. Nothing in this city has been familiar or comforting.” He wasn’t making eye contact. He was still angry. Doh’Val had learned that Vulcans could very well feel plenty of emotions. “But soon, we will make contact with Mr. Seu.” They had never intended to take this long. 

Another painful silence fell between them. He needed to break it. “I will persuade my patron to give us more leniency. Tell him that he cannot have his music if we cannot have control over where it goes.” 

“We can begin our discussion there.” Sapphire eyes met his. “Are you so certain that he will agree?” 

“No.” 

“And if he refuses?”

“Then I will ask my parents to disavow me for the sake of the family. I can live on Earth. My father’s family will look after me.” 

Notes of concern. “You will live in exile. Your life on Homeworld will cease to exist.” 

“Yes.” 

“But you will speak with your patron and ask him to respect what belongs to us.” 

“Yes.” 

His hand touched Doh’Val’s. “Vulcan is very different from your home. However, if you find that Earth is unacceptable, I can make arrangements for you on my world.” 

His heart fluttered. “I—where would I go?”

“Well, it is most logical that you live in close proximity to me. I can teach you about life on my planet and secure the resources that you will require, perhaps even contact the Federation about sponsorship so you can continue your work.” His grip tightened around Doh’Val’s hand. “You will be cared for.” 

He coughed forcefully to stop the tears from forming. “Thank you,” he whispered. 

“We are friends. I should do nothing less.”


	5. Riot on the Transport

Even worse than the bird-of-prey. They huddled with the freighter’s cargo: laborers. A pathetic lot. All bound for Cardassia Prime to continue reconstruction efforts. They had kept their robes and concealed their faces. The best thing they could do for now was wait. It was dark and hot in the freighter, the way Cardassians kept everything. 

At the moment, the laborers were eating their rations. Bipedal and gaunt, greenish people. They all looked miserable. Thus far, the two of them had concealed themselves in the shadows. At least they had their own food for the moment. 

“I will gather water for us.” Vudic didn’t bother to listen for Doh’Val’s protest, taking their carafes to the spigots in the middle of the hold. His ka’athyra was slung over his shoulder. No time to stop him.

Doh’Val watched him walk to the spigot. A laborer confronted him, saying something in the laborer’s language. Would a fight break out? 

What...what was he doing? Vudic had his ka’athyra in hand now. He strummed it and immediately the din of conversation quieted around him. Conversations still continued elsewhere in the cavernous hold. He caught Vudic’s glorious, shining eyes. Join me. 

He obliged, collecting everything they still owned as well as his drum. Approaching, he saw the light of life on the laborers’ faces. They seemed mystified as if Vudic were casting magic. He whispered in Vudic’s ear, “Should we start singing?” 

“Yes. Follow my lead.” He began:

A shooting star is not a star, is not a star at all…..

The round Vudic had taught him. Easy enough. 

A shooting star is not a star….  
A shooting star is not a star….

Soon, the entire hold had grown quiet to hear them. It never occurred to Doh’Val that there were people who didn’t hear music often and treated it as a luxury. They were giving these people a small gift. 

Meeting Vudic’s eyes, he knew that they needed to continue for as long as it took. 

A few of the nearest laborers started humming quietly. 

Then a few more behind them.

And then some more still.

Someone started singing along, making up their own words. 

Another joined in.

Then another, and another, and three more, and then ten more. And then the whole hold was filled with singing. 

How glorious that music could uplift the spirits of these people. Doh’Val felt his throat closing, choking up from the sheer beauty of the sight before him. 

Shouting started at the far end of the hold. Crewmembers were coming in to break them up. Oh no.

Vudic had stopped, grabbing up their stuff in one hand and Doh’Val’s collar in another before bolting back toward their shadowy hideout. They couldn’t be seen. 

Singing turned to shouting. People were rushing toward the crewmembers at the far end. A riot had started, and it was all their fault.

But for one sublime moment, they had granted these people hope. 

++++++++++++++  
++++++++++++++

Gul Doth, 

The freighter carrying our labor force guaranteed by the Ferengi Alliance has been delayed following a riot in the hold. The freighter is docked at the former Cardassian Terok Nor station. 

Deckhands have reported the sight of two cloaked figures escaping onto the station. One had failed to cover their face. Deckhands claim that the uncovered figure was of Romulan origin.

There is reason to believe the riot started as part of a Romulan sabotage plot.


End file.
